tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post4773452637113287955..comments2023-04-10T14:29:56.153+01:00Comments on Raw Light: poetry & opinion since 2005: Floods at Boscastle AgainUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-10969536082017343902007-06-22T18:40:00.000+01:002007-06-22T18:40:00.000+01:00Cats 'n dogs janey woo, one is soo crazee wiv wetn...Cats 'n dogs janey woo, one is soo crazee wiv wetness today, one fears for my other pals in cyberspace, the aul gang from the good old days of western united, before the smoking ban, when hacks knew their place.<BR/><BR/>Now wiv all the e-ho's and gigolos depositing their wangst and woe, wot can one do, phwoar wot a frozen right rose tree, said uncle willy to the maudlin git, confused aristoi of utterance..ermm.not in the four way pyramid of wind s/he belongsa to sailot, strap on a sourwester and wellie up for tiffie-wet love dripping, st david's due to rise in Leek Look Love, once again, tripple bleddy L, wot a foursome of faery grace we is when it's pissing down..poetry tonight in the Winding Stair bookshop at the northern base of Hapenny bridge, Orla Martin - have you heard - hosting, and this is what one wrote last July on this brill Galwegian tribeswoman of goidelic reversal of a mindset not imperial in the far wesht..<BR/><BR/>"She speaks a superbly luscious language which investigates a space of accident, chance, heartbreak and relationships, armed with only a modern imaginative flair for spinning from the air between listener and reader, a pure poetic fabric as light as polished rose blossom billowing, moire and soft down the outline of smooth rock beds, wind drenched husks of living myth. <BR/><BR/>Martin is a prize winning poet with pitch perfect delivery and talent that shines from every pore of her being like butter rubbing in the glow of connactha's banfili verbal warrior, Scathach's golden warmth, advertising a hot and sticky existence in the summer of 07"Coirí Filíochtahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-10351555065098123692007-06-22T14:54:00.000+01:002007-06-22T14:54:00.000+01:00'Fair and foul are near of kin,And fair needs foul...'Fair and foul are near of kin,<BR/>And fair needs foul,' I cried.<BR/>'My friends are gone, but that's a truth<BR/>Nor grave nor bed denied,<BR/>Learned in bodily lowliness<BR/>And in the heart's pride.<BR/><BR/><BR/>From <I>Crazy Jane Talks with the Bishop</I>, WB Yeats<BR/><BR/>Good to see you here in blogland, Desmond. Raining in Dublin too, is it? <BR/><BR/>JxJane Holland: Editorhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12841007863029354079noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-35805334102027151712007-06-22T14:37:00.000+01:002007-06-22T14:37:00.000+01:00Holland of the special friendship, how sweetly one...Holland of the special friendship, how sweetly one sings comment box champimoany luck-out you swaery sailing wunt it a shocker, red top or wha..?<BR/><BR/>The one thing a windbag brings to the table of speech, is peroration and lengthy address, purest spacers are more silly willy than WB aint s/he the greatest, it's bluddy pissing doin, ear it can yer, soft wet tailing rain slaps down on the fibreglass and kingspan, thermal retention a must, mattress stuffed in an Attic hq, amergin and ray, shandie and Chandler, yellow papaer man typing 50 words top the page on a remington in the production office between drinks.<BR/><BR/>Just like the good aul days when he was an oilman accountant before the crash in '29, JP set for camelot, full hit paddies coming at yer, aint got a dynasty, had s/he not decided thee boudicca & co, christ..innit a soundless boundary of english uttered goidelic rayomd once dreamt, in yeats' day, wha..?Coirí Filíochtahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15137576329670368944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-15176708946071566352007-06-22T02:49:00.000+01:002007-06-22T02:49:00.000+01:00Here's what a friend of mine, Desmond, said tonigh...Here's what a friend of mine, Desmond, said tonight on a poetry forum, I suspect because he had read this blog entry - though it's always hard to tell for sure what Desmond really means:<BR/><BR/>"Any person who escapes a flood is of biblical proportion surely, certainly a life of poetic escape, redress and utterance balanced with a nuance for her own language, sound in new form methinks said the irishman to the manx wimmin tearing over baize cliffs, the certainty of myth behind her utterance, cuhullain, danu herself, the mist alone an airless tornado trooping through bare branches, on a frozen mid-winter night, the week of equinox and druidic banfili, gotta be ms, more poetry pleasing one sounds when the rain gods came reversing your luck overnight, astounding reality innit jane?"Jane Hollandhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15590668593487445482noreply@blogger.com